


Angels Dining at the Ritz

by missnovember23



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 04:53:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29711925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missnovember23/pseuds/missnovember23
Summary: A young waitress at the Ritz has been keeping an eye on a certain regular pair for around a year. They have quite a strange relationship, and no one at the Ritz knows quite what they are to each other. The waitress begins to know more about their lives the more she serves them, and begins to be friends with the pair. Soon, she finds out they may have known each other far longer than she first assumed.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 49





	Angels Dining at the Ritz

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Thank you for choosing to read this! A few disclaimers:
> 
> \- I am very bad at summaries. Sorry about whatever that was.  
> \- I wrote this very fast, so it's short (hopefully sweet!) and not that great. All my ideas are there though!  
> \- I am very American, and this story takes place in London, so I hope it's not painfully obvious that I am Not From There.  
> \- This was inspired by a Tumblr post I found on Pinterest!  
> \- I take details from both the book and the show: the characters are written how I imagined them while reading the book, but I imagine the story to take place in the 2019 timeline!   
> \- If you like this, then that makes me very happy! Thank you! Unfortunately, I will most likely not be writing any more.
> 
> Enjoy!

I awoke to yet another gloomy February day. I wished I could stay inside, but I had to get to work quickly, for I slept past my alarm again. I pulled a white button-down shirt over my messy bed hair, and pulled on a tight black skirt over my matching black tights. It looked like it was going to be raining all day, and I really wasn’t looking forward to walking to and from work in the rain. I slicked my hair back into a tight bun to keep it out of the way, brushed my bangs forward, and hastily cleaned my round glasses with the corner of my shirt before tucking it in. I was running late. Very, very late.

I attempted to poke the last pin into my hair while simultaneously trying to both slip my shoes on and open the door to leave my flat. Of course it didn’t work, and I ended up tripping over myself and landing on the floor. Somehow I did manage to open the door during the whole endeavour. Therefore, anyone walking down the hall could see me laying flat on my face in the doorway. Fantastic. I brushed myself off like nothing happened and closed the door steadily. It was only until I had walked down several flights of stairs (the elevator had been broken for weeks) that I realized I had forgotten my umbrella.

Dripping wet, I ran into the restaurant. After getting a stern talking to that wasn’t quite yelling, but almost there (“This is the Ritz, you cannot just show up late and sopping wet!”) I took a few deep breaths and got ready to begin my shift. 

It was a real miracle they hadn’t fired me yet. A miracle indeed.

I had almost dried off a few hours later and was serving a couple their lunch when two men walked through the door. They were usual customers; I had served them many times in the last year I had been working at the Ritz. They were the oddest pair I’d ever seen: one had hair so blonde it was practically white, and always wore the same beige coat over his pastel blue shirt and brown pants. He also always wore a little tartan bow tie. His companion, on the other hand, had dark hair and tan skin and always wore different outfits: however, they were always within the same dark color palette. Today he was wearing a black jacket over a red button down shirt and black pants with matching black dress shoes. He also wore fashionable black sunglasses all the time- even when he was inside. I didn’t think our lights were that bright. Another very strange fact about them at this particular moment was that although it was pouring outside, neither of them appeared to be wet in the slightest, and neither of them were carrying an umbrella.

Everyone who worked at the restaurant assumed they were a couple, though no one actually knew for sure. It was the day one waiter overheard the dark haired one call the other angel that we had started gossiping. Some of the staff claimed they were only friends, and dismissed the rest of us who clearly thought otherwise. However, none of us had ever noticed wedding rings, or any other remarks that would lead us to believe they were more than simply close friends. Nobody had been brave enough to ask them for the truth.

The pair took a seat at their usual spot in the middle of the restaurant. I had noticed not long ago that whenever they walked in, their same table had miraculously been cleared off and reset only minutes before. It had just happened today. The dark-haired man pulled a chair out for his blonde companion to sit down before sitting in his own chair.

I greeted them and gave them each a menu. The blond smiled up at me cheerfully, but the other seemed to already be engrossed in the menu. The funny thing was that I nor any of the other servers had ever seen him eat. He occasionally did order something, but it often ended up on the blond’s side of the table. The blond, however, always ordered something (usually dessert) and slowly savored it until it was gone. They always tipped very generously, to my delight.

Today, they both ordered a slice of our angel food cake and a bottle of red wine to share.

I brought out the bottle and two glasses, and poured them each a glass. They smiled and thanked me, and I went back to the kitchen for the cake. As I was cutting generous slices, my coworker turned to me and peered over my shoulder. 

“Are those for that odd couple? Are they here today?” She asked excitedly.

“How did you know?” I asked.

“Just a guess. They like to order angel food cake.”

I’m not so sure why we were all so invested in the lives of this strange pair. We found them to be so interesting, much more interesting than any of the other couples that would come here. Most people only came here once in a great while, but this couple visited at least once or twice every other week. I delivered the slices of cake to their table along with two forks. They thanked me again and I went to check on another one of my tables, still stealing glances at them. I smiled a little when I saw the dark haired man push his plate over to the blond, whose face lit up with delight.

I was placing menus on the table next to the couple when I accidentally overheard a bit of the conversation they were having. “It’s a wonder they haven’t noticed us after all these years,” the blond said, dabbing his mouth with a cloth napkin.

“I agree,” said his companion while sitting back in his chair. “Hell isn’t the most observant type, but Heaven on the other hand...” He crossed his legs and looked up at the ceiling. “They haven’t mentioned anything to you?”

“Nope. Nothing at all.”

I realized I had lingered at the next table over on purpose. I hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. What an odd conversation. I figured it was some inside joke they were talking about, and finished setting the table. I was about to walk over to set another table when I was called over. 

“Miss, we’re ready for our check,” the dark haired man said. I nodded and began to walk away when the blond man gently touched my elbow.

“Thank you so much, dear,” he said. “You’re our usual waitress here, and you always do such a lovely job. Right?” he said, looking over at the other. 

I was taken aback by his sweet comment. “Why thank you,” I said. “It’s always a pleasure serving you two, the other staff loves to see you as well. You’re our favorite regulars,” I added. They both beamed at this. “How long have you been together?” I asked, hoping for some friendly conversation. I was finally getting to know them!

The blond smiled up at me. “Oh, well, we’ve always-” His companion cut him off.

“We’re not together,” he said bluntly. This was not the response I was hoping to get.

“Aren’t we?” said the blond man, looking confused. “We’re eating lunch together, are we not?”

The dark haired man looked directly at me. “That’s not what she meant,” he said, with a possible hint of sadness in his voice.

“Oh.” The blond looked down at the napkin on his lap.

“I’m so sorry,” I blurted. “I’ve overstepped, I- that was completely inappropriate of me. I’ll go get your check now.” Embarrassed, I hung my head and walked away briskly. The conversation had gone in the complete opposite direction I had expected it to, much to my disappointment. What would I tell my coworkers about this? Nothing, I decided. Nothing at all. I would keep this bit of conversation to myself. 

I came back with the check without a word. The dark haired man took it from me, also without saying anything. I knew his name: A.J. Crowley. I had seen his signature before. It was a series of slashes and lines, yet very legible. He often was the one who paid, which I saw as very kind of him. I assumed he must have to be wealthy, because he always tipped much more than he needed to. I’d seen his blond friend’s signature as well, but I could never actually read it. It was elegant, yes, but had too many loops to even make out a single letter. There could’ve been a Z in his name, or possibly an E or an I, but I couldn’t tell.

Mr. Crowley handed the check back to me. As I expected, he left a large tip despite the conversation we had earlier. He must have been annoyed with me for assuming anything, yet he continued to be generous. I thanked him quietly with a little nod and hurried off.

I didn’t see them again for another month and a half. 

I hoped I hadn’t offended them too terribly. I thought about them at work every day, hoping to see their table come free and watch them walk through the door a few minutes later. But they never did. It wasn’t like the pair to not come in for this long. I began to grow worried, as did my coworkers. They asked me if I knew anything about this strange occurrence, but I told them I didn’t have a clue as to why they weren’t showing up. This wasn’t true, of course.

I wondered if everything was alright between them. I suspected there was some sort of awkwardness now, and it was all my fault. I felt horrible. 

On the second day of spring, I was clearing a table where a family was sitting with two messy kids. I grimaced as I took their napkins, covered with… who knows what. I was in high spirits that day; it was my birthday, and it was a beautiful day outside. It had rained on more of my birthdays than not, so I was grateful to see not one cloud in the sky on my way to work. I had gotten up in time, feeling well rested, and was able to grab coffee before my shift. It had been a happy morning.

The family got up from their table and left a small tip in cash. I didn’t mind. I took the rest of their plates back to the kitchen and slipped the money in my pocket. 

Two familiar figures walked through the door as I was walking back out into the main dining area. I grinned at the sight of them and made a mental note to mention their appearance to my coworkers. A.J. Crowley was holding a small plant with many leaves, which seemed odd to me, but then again, most everything about the pair was odd. As they bustled in, I noticed Crowley looked worried. “Do you think she’ll like it?” I heard him ask.

“Of course she will,” the blond said matter-of-factly. “Humans love plants. They enjoy taking care of things.” I turned away as they took their seats at their usual table, which I realized was the one I had just cleared off.

I approached their table after they were settled, hoping the pair had forgotten about our last interaction. “Hello!” I said cheerfully. “That’s a beautiful plant you have there. What can I get you started off with today?” 

Mr. Crowley held up the plant. “It’s for you. Happy birthday!” I was speechless for a moment, and Crowley brought the plant back down in front of his sunglasses. “Now, you be good for her. No spots, no wilting, no nothing,” he said, shaking his finger at the plant. It was probably my imagination, but I thought I could see the plant trembling ever so slightly. I thought he was joking, so I laughed good naturedly. The blond took the plant away hurriedly and handed it to me.

“Don’t go scaring the poor thing before you even give it to her,” he scolded. He turned to me. “Happy birthday dear. I hope it’s a lovely one.” I smiled.

“Thank you so much, that’s very kind of you. How did you know it was my birthday?” I asked, taking the plant from him. The two men gave each other a look.

“Oh, we heard it from one of your associates,” the blond said. “She mentioned it one day offhandeldly. It was my idea to bring the plant,” he chuckled. “So, how old are you today?”

“Twenty-two,” I replied. “It’s my golden birthday, since today is also the twenty-second.” Mr. Crowley nodded.

“I’ve heard of that,” he said solemnly. I thanked them again profusely and headed to grab them the bottle of wine they ordered. It was very sweet of them to think of me, but I couldn’t remember a time I ever mentioned my birthday to anyone I worked with. And if someone was to ever mention when my birthday was, how would the topic ever arise? I shook off the thought and went back to work.

That evening, I set the plant on my kitchen counter. I examined it carefully, looking for any hidden cameras or anything else out of sorts. I was a very paranoid person. As I reached out to lift up a leaf, the plant started shaking. “What the hell?” I whispered to myself. It began shaking more violently. I took a few steps away from the plant and held up my hands. “I’m not going to hurt you, I promise,” I said slowly. I must have looked like a crazy person, talking to a plant, but it ceased its trembling. I watered it gently and placed it by the window.

A few weeks after my birthday, I was in Soho, meeting a friend at a Japanese restaurant for lunch. My plant was very much alive still and flourishing; I found I didn’t have to water it very often. It had not trembled since my birthday, much to my relief. As I was entering the restaurant, I noticed a bookstore across the street. A.Z. Fell and Co. Antiquarian and Unusual Books; the sign read out front. I decided to take a look inside after lunch. I’d always been an avid reader, maybe I could find something new.

“Have you ever been to that bookshop across the street?” I asked my friend once we had gotten our food. She was a reader too, and lived in Soho, so I was sure she would have visited at least once.

“No,” she responded, to my surprise. “To be honest, I get a weird feeling whenever I walk by that place. I was going to go in one day, but decided against it.” She looked down at her sushi. “This sounds silly, but I got the feeling the bookstore itself didn’t want me to go in.”

I pondered this. Now I definitely knew I wanted to check it out. We finished up our food and got up to leave. “I’m going to walk over to the shop,” I said. “Do you want to try again and come with me?”

“No thank you,” my friend said. “I have to go see my mum, she’s not feeling well these days.” I knew about this, and felt guilty for asking. 

“No worries,” I said. “I hope she’s doing alright, say hello to her for me.” And with that, we parted. I took a deep breath and crossed the street to the bookshop. To me, it seemed very welcoming. It sat on the corner of the street, and looked a bit run down. I could smell the faint aroma of chocolate as I walked closer. 

A bell jingled to announce my entrance as I opened the door. Books were piled from the floor to the ceiling, on top of chairs, and of course, crammed into bookshelves. There didn’t appear to be anyone in the shop, so I looked around. Most of the books looked to be very old, so I didn’t pick any up. It was quite an unusual store; it almost seemed like the books were only on display instead of for sale. It smelled heavenly. I could still pick up the smell of chocolate, but also the smells of expensive wine and ancient paper.

I was looking at one of the many Bibles in the store when something moving caught the corner of my eye. A man was walking towards me. “Hello there!” he said, waving. “It’s good to see you here! I almost didn’t recognize you without your uniform.”

I realized it was the blond man from the Ritz. I smiled. “Hello!” I exclaimed. “Is this your shop?” He folded his hands and nodded.

“Yes it is! I don’t believe I’ve ever told you my name. I’m A.Z. Fell, and so was my father, and his father before him,” he said energetically. “May I interest you in a cup of cocoa? Or possibly a glass of wine?”

I began to shake my head to say no, but changed my mind. “Actually, a cup of cocoa sounds nice. It’s a bit chilly out there,” I said, rubbing my hands over the sleeves of my striped sweater. Mr. Fell smiled and hurried to the back of the store. I laughed to myself. A.Z. and A.J.. What an odd pair. Normally, overly friendly men like Mr. Fell would make me nervous, but not him. Something about him felt warm and comforting, like an old friend. I didn’t have the slightest feeling that he would hurt or take advantage of me. His kindness and enthusiasm was genuine. 

Mr. Fell came back around a bookshelf that was practically crushed with large books and handed me my cocoa. He had put a generous amount of whipped cream, sprinkles, and of course, marshmallows on top. I thanked him for his generosity and took the cup. I noticed there were little angel wings sprouting from the side for the handle. Mr. Fell placed a gentle hand on my shoulder.

“Come, dear. You must see Crowley, I told him you were here!” I found it strange he wasn’t on a first name basis with Mr. Crowley, since they seemed so close, but decided not to judge. I followed Mr. Fell to the back of the store, where Mr. Crowley was perched on a brown sofa.

“Oh hello there,” he drawled, wine glass in hand. “How’s your plant holding up? Any spots?”

I shook my head. “I haven’t seen any.”

“Good,” he said, swirling the red wine around in his glass. “If you ever happen to see any, bring it over to me.”

“O-okay,” I said, laughing nervously. Mr. Fell swatted his arm playfully with a nearby newspaper.

“Dear boy, you must stop tormenting those pitiful plants of yours,” he said. “The humans don’t do that, you know.” He winked at me. I didn’t ask him what he meant by humans. 

“Ah, but do they have plants as well behaved and as beautiful as mine?” I didn’t say anything. Mr. Crowley smirked. “I didn’t think so.” 

“You’d be surprised,” Mr. Fell said, raising an eyebrow at me. “How is your cocoa?”

“Delicious,” I said, wiping a layer of whipped cream off of my upper lip. To tell the truth, it was the best cocoa I’d ever had. It was rich, and the perfect consistency- not to mention the temperature was perfect as well. Not too cold, but not scalding hot either. “Thank you so much, you’ve both been very kind to me. Will I see you two at the Ritz anytime soon?” Mr. Crowley looked over at Mr. Fell.

“We could go for a spot of lunch this week,” he said. Mr. Fell nodded in response. 

“Great,” I said. “I’ll see you then! Thank you again for the cocoa, I should probably be going.” I handed over the angel mug. “Your shop is wonderful. I’ll be back for sure.” They waved goodbye as I left the building.

Later that night, I took a notepad out of my desk. I made a bullet-pointed list:

\- pet name- angel  
\- angel food cake  
\- angel wing cup

I had noticed this pattern as I was driving home from the bookshop. I wondered if angels meant anything, or if I was looking too far into this. I wasn’t exactly sure why I was looking too much into this pair’s lives at all- I had never taken interest in strangers like this before. Then again, they weren’t really strangers now, were they? I concluded I was just being noisy and decided to go to bed.

I saw Mr. Fell and Mr. Crowley later that week, just as they had said. I also saw them many times after that. They continued to be Ritz regulars, and I became a regular myself at the bookshop. We had become friends, sort of. We were the most unlikely of friends, but they had the best stories to tell me. It sounded like the two men had been friends far longer than I had originally suspected.

What frustrated me, however, was that I still couldn’t tell if they were more than just old friends. I had let the subject drop after the incident at the Ritz a few months ago, but I couldn’t help but wonder every time I talked to them. I watched them steal fond glances when the other wasn’t looking, reminisce on old times, and pretty much act like an old married couple most of the time. They would lean into each other on the couch, shoulders pressing together. It was sweet, and I supposed it was something that made me feel so comfortable around them. I wanted more than anything to know more about these two, but I was too afraid to intrude again and make a fool out of myself. 

On a warm summer day, I was headed to pay a visit to the bookshop when a familiar vintage black Bentley came barreling around the corner. I recognized the car as Crowley’s; it was always parked outside the bookshop. I could see Mr. Crowley inside, and his face looked panicked. That was when I noticed the smoke. 

I chased after the car, running faster than I had ever run before. I turned the corner and tripped over a crack in the sidewalk, falling to the ground. The bookshop was engulfed in flames, and Crowley’s car was parked outside. He was nowhere to be seen. “MR. CROWLEY!” I screamed. Smoke filled my lungs and I coughed violently, but I stood up. I could feel the heat of the flames lapping against my face. 

“Are you the owner of this establishment?” a fireman asked me.

“What? I- no, it’s a friend of mine, he…” I looked around wildly. “Have you seen a dark-haired man anywhere, probably wearing dark clothes and sunglasses?”

“You mean the man who just ran inside?” the fireman asked, raising his eyebrows.

“He WHAT?” I wailed. “WELL, WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? HELP HIM!”

“I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do,” said the fireman monotonically. “The place is falling down.”

I could hear a beam break inside and so did I. Mr. Crowley was almost positively dead, and Mr. Fell was nowhere to be seen. His pride and joy, his bookshop, was going down in flames. All those beautiful books. I screamed again, though I could hardly hear it over the sound of sirens. Mr. Crowley was stupid, so, so stupid for running into a burning building. Why had he done it? I had an idea as to why. Mr. Fell was probably in there, dead too.

I looked up and my vision blurred. A fireman was moving me across the street, away from the fire. A stream of water was shot into the flickering orange building. I couldn’t do anything but sob. No more lunches at the Ritz, no more impromptu visits to the bookshop. No more long discussions over cocoa, no more- 

I stared in shock as someone walked out of the burning bookshop. Mr. Crowley’s face was full of grief, and he took off his dark sunglasses to reveal tears streaming down his cheeks. I ran over to him and grabbed his arm. 

“Is Mr. Fell-” I didn’t need to finish the question. Mr. Crowley looked down at me with devastated yellow eyes that almost looked snake-like.

“They killed him,” he said, choking down a sob. “They killed my best friend.” He stepped into his car before he could hear me ask: "What do you mean? Who killed him? And how are you unharmed?"

I could hear Somebody To Love by Queen blaring in the Bentley down the street. I sat down on the curb, rested my head in my arms, and sobbed.

I was in the kitchen at the Ritz, balancing three orders between my two hands. The last day or two had been fuzzy; whenever I attempted to recall former events, my brain wouldn’t let me. I mentioned this to a coworker of mine, and he said he had felt the same feeling. Occasionally I would see fire in front of my eyes, but it would leave as soon as it appeared. I wasn’t sure what had happened in the past few days, and I wasn’t sure I really wanted to know.

I placed the plates down in front of the trio I was serving and shook my arms out. They were already getting tired, and it was only lunchtime. I turned to check if there was anyone I needed to attend to in the dining area, and spotted Mr. Crowley and Mr. Fell at their table. I walked over cheerfully, and they smiled when they noticed me. “What can I get started for you today?” I asked. “A bottle of wine?”

“Not today,” Mr. Fell said. “A bottle of your finest champagne, please. We’re celebrating!”

“Oh,” I said. “What are you celebrating?” The two men stole glances at each other.

“The world,” Mr. Crowley said.

“Yes. The world,” Mr. Fell confirmed. I smiled and turned away to get them their drinks. The world. How sentimental. I supposed there was a larger reason they were celebrating, but the world was a fine thing to celebrate. I poured the champagne while they talked. For once, I didn’t pay attention to their conversation, but I could tell it was something sappy.

“To the world,” Mr. Crowley said, holding up his glass.

“To the world,” Mr. Fell replied. They clinked glasses and each took a sip. The pianist began playing A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square, and I hummed along.

There were angels dining at the Ritz, and a nightingale sang in Berkeley Square.

I paused. Another reference to angels. I turned to peek at Mr. Fell and Mr. Crowley. They looked deep in conversation; Mr. Fell was enthusiastically telling Mr. Crowley something, and Mr. Crowley seemed to be listening intently with a hand resting under his chin. They looked very content in each other’s company. It made my heart warm to see.

I may be right, I may be wrong, but I’m perfectly willing to swear that when you turned and smiled at me, a nightingale sang in Berkeley Square.

It was a cool autumn day, and the trees had just begun to turn bright red and orange. I yawned, though I had been trying very hard not to throughout the day. It was beginning to grow dark outside. I had been working since early in the morning, and I was ready to go home. The customers were fading out; it was getting late and most people had already dropped in for dinner. I was picking up the wine glasses from a noisy dinner party when my favorite odd couple walked in, having a conversation.

“Hello there!” I said waving, still with a wine glass in my hand. Mr. Crowley and Mr. Fell waved back. I helped them get settled at their favorite table and took my notepad for their orders. They ordered a bottle of champagne, and I fondly remembered the day the pianist was playing a love song as they toasted to the world. 

“And what are we celebrating today?” I asked.

Mr. Fell folded his hands on the table. “We bought a house today!” he exclaimed.

“That’s right,” Mr. Crowley said cheerfully. “A little old cottage in the South Downs.”

I looked back and forth between them excitedly. I realized they were waiting for my response. “That’s wonderful!” I said. “What made you two decide to move in together?”

“Well,” Mr. Fell said, unfolding his hands, “For starters, we’ve been in each other’s company for so long that we came to the reasonable conclusion that it simply wasn’t suitable for us to live alone any longer.”

“It was getting lonely in my flat,” Mr. Crowley added. “Too dark and gloomy.” He shook his head, like he was attempting to rid the thought of gloominess. “Although, my plants are definitely moving into the new house with us.”

“As long as you let me help take care of them,” Mr. Fell said. “That was the agreement; they need more love!” I could tell Mr. Crowley was rolling his eyes underneath his sunglasses.

I pushed my own glasses up my nose. “Congratulations!” I said. “I’ll be right back with your champagne.”

I had stopped telling my coworkers about the details of the pair’s lives quite a while ago. Since becoming friends with them, I had come to realize they were real people, not a reality show, and we should be treating them as such. It was not for us Ritz staff to go around gossiping about the lives of our customers, no matter how interesting the lives were. They were human beings living human lives, just like the rest of us. 

I brought two glasses with the bottle of champagne, and the couple toasted just as they did on that late summer day.

“To the cottage!”

“To the cottage.”

It had become quiet in the restaurant as our second to last customers left. Mr. Fell ordered a slice of angel food cake, and Mr. Crowley ordered bread pudding. Both desserts ended up on the same side of the table after only a few minutes.

About two months later, I was taking a leisurely stroll through St. James’ Park when I came across two familiar faces having a picnic on the grass. They waved to me, and I walked over.

“Did you get moved in alright?” I asked. 

“We did, thank you for asking,” Mr. Fell said. “The weather today is lovely for a winter’s day, isn’t it?”

I looked up at the sky as if to check if snow was beginning to fall. “Yes it is,” I replied. It was definitely chilly, though mostly sunny outside. I had bundled up in a fluffy winter coat, along with a long sleeved shirt, a knit sweater, jeans, and tall boots. Both Mr. Crowley and Mr. Fell were wearing their usual clothes. Between them sat a charcuterie board packed with grapes, many different kinds of cheeses, salami, and little chocolates. They were each drinking a glass of red wine.

“I’m afraid I won’t be your server at the Ritz for much longer,” I admitted. The pair frowned.

“Why ever not?” Mr. Crowley asked.

“I’ll be moving to America for a job next year,” I said. “It’s exciting, but I’ll miss it here. A lot.” A tear sprang to my eye. “I’ve really enjoyed knowing you.”

“Us too, dear,” Mr. Fell said. “Thank you for being the best waitress the Ritz has ever had.”

I laughed sadly. “I don’t know about that,” I said, “but thank you. Thank you for being the most lovely and interesting customers the Ritz has ever had.”

Mr. Crowley flashed me a grin. “I don’t know about that.”

I said my goodbyes and was about to turn away when I noticed matching gold rings on both of their ring fingers. I grinned with excitement and turned back around.


End file.
